


The Silence After

by flashforeward



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: But Not Completely Sad Either, Case Fic, Creepy, Dark, Demons, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Horror, Not A Happy Ending, POV John Constantine, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: Even when you win, sometimes you still lose.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Silence After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empyrean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empyrean/gifts).



> Thank you to [redacted] and [redacted] for the betas!
> 
> Happy yuletide, empyrean, I hope you like this!
> 
> Shout out to Spencer Rhys Hughes, author of The War Beneath, who’s way of writing rituals has apparently rubbed off on me.

You’ve drawn and redrawn the sigil a hundred times (probably more, honestly). Scuffed chalk with careless steps and had to start again. Sweat dripped onto outlines making them blur and even the slightest alteration can open the binding and unleash horrors on the world, so you had to scrub it out and do it again and again and-

 _John_ Zed’s voice is like a dream, a whisper brushing light against your concentration. You wipe sweat from your brow as you turn to face her, know you look even worse than you feel because every ounce of you has been poured into this ritual - and you haven’t even finished yet. _John, you need to eat something_. She has a tray, loaded up with sandwiches, and you know Chas has put it together and sent her to take care of you and your heart aches at the thought because it’s not like you deserve it.

You stub out your cigarette on the wall beside you - you’ve lost count of what number this is - and pull out another. _Not hungry, love_ , you say, because you’re not. You’re shaking - part nicotine overdose part exhaustion - and you have to clench your cigarette a little too tight as you bring it to your lips, hold your lighter up with your elbow braced against your side so you look as blasé as you ever do.

Not that Zed is buying it.

She sets the tray down on the cluttered table, how she finds room for it is beyond you, and selects a sandwich from among the aray which she brings over to you and places in your hand, glaring up at you. You meet her gaze and you manage to hold it for more than a second, which is better than you were expecting considering everything you’re putting her and Chas through right now, but you still don’t eat.

Your stomach lurches at the thought, at the smell of roast beef and swiss cheese. You want to stumble back, pull away, recoil, but it’s in your hand and you can’t get away without dropping it or shoving it back at Zed and if you drop it you’ll have to do the sigil _again_ and if you shove it back to Zed she won’t take it and it will drop and you’ll have to do the sigil _again_.

You flick your eyes away from Zed and bring the sandwich to your lips, forcing your mouth to open, forcing yourself to take a bite. You gag as the flavors explode across your tongue - that spicy not-quite-mayonaise Chas makes, the salt of the beef, the tang of the cheese. Your mouth fills with saliva and you want to spit it out, retch, show Zed you weren’t lying when you said you weren’t hungry.

But you can’t do the sigil again. You’ve barely enough left for the rest of the ritual and redrawing the sigil would take it all out of you. So you force yourself to swallow. Zed watches you as you take bite after bite, chewing as fast as you safely can, swallowing down every piece until the sandwich is gone and your cigarette, forgotten in your other hand, is burning itself out against your fingers.

 _Happy now?_ you ask.

 _No,_ Zed says.

And she’s not, you can see she’s not, but she doesn’t make you eat another sandwich and you’re grateful for that.

 _Get the candles, will you?_ You put your cigarette out properly and take up the chalk once more, finishing the sigil so you’re trapped inside as Zed sets the candles up around the perimeter. You see Chas come down the stairs, see the look he gives the still-full tray of sandwiches, and you wish you could have eaten more. Could have done something, anything, to reassure the two people you care about most in this world - the two people who, for reasons you do not fully comprehend, care most about you in this world.

You don’t deserve them, and you wish they weren’t being dragged down with you.

 _Ready_ , Zed says, lighting the last candle and stepping back. You nod, pull in a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly, closing your eyes and raising your arms as you begin the incantation.

And that’s when everything goes horrible.

Your world shatters around you, glass and bricks and splinters of wood cascading to the floor. You crouch down, arms over your head, shouting for Zed and Chas to get back, to get out of there, but when the world stops falling, you look up and find them gone. Find everything gone. Less _they disappeared_ and more _you have entered a liminal space_. The room is mostly still there, shattered though it is, but it’s not quite right. What’s left of the walls drip blood, the cluttered table has been replaced by an altar with a mutilated carcass impaled on it, the staircase is completely gone along with Chas and Zed.

You try not to be happy about that, try not to let hope that the transition spared them even brush your mind because-

_Const  
_ _an  
_ _tine_

There it is, what you’re here for. The voice a crawling thing that shudders down your spine and fills your mind with every rotten thing on earth or in hell. The limits of your imagination don’t matter, this space and that voice and the looming presence that fills the space created by the sigil all break into your mind and fill you with a creeping dread and you want to bolt, to run, to disappear into the shadows where the staircase used to be - where Chas and Zed used to be - but you hold your ground.

The moment you leave the sigil, it can leave, too.

 _Been awhile_ , you say as if you’ve ever spoken with this particular demonic entity before - which, for all you know, you could have, you’ve been at this for so long. _Little bird told me you’ve been sneaking topside_.

_Con_  
_stan  
_ _tiiiiiiiine_

It whines into your ear, a whisper on rancid breath, wet and hot against your skin. You can’t help your flinch, but you recover quickly and clear your throat. _Let them go_ , you say, surprised at how strong your voice is - perhaps it’s the thought of them, the children lying comatose and rotting in hospital beds, no answers for their parents.

 _John!_ Zed’s voice. Zed’s voice but it’s not Zed, don’t let it trick you.

 _John!_ Chas this time. Chas but not Chas.

Its impressions are almost perfect, hard to catch those little hiccups of hellfire that give it away, and the fear it puts into their voices hurts you, makes your heart ache so bad you want to give it all up. If you didn’t know better you’d break the binding and rush to them, take them in your arms, reassure yourself that they’re all right. But you do know better and you catch the subtle hissing tones that mark these voices as imposters and you grit your teeth and shout into the darkness that surrounds you.

No words, just an angry bark.

It recoils from you and you quickly start the chant, incanting as fast as you dare because you have to be clear about your intentions. It writhes around you, moaning your name, reaching into your mind, running half-existent tendrils across your body, tugging at you, trying to stop you. But you fight against it, close your eyes and belt the words out into this almost-hell you’ve built for it until the final word echoes through the darkness and every sense of it is gone and you collapse-

Chas catches you. The basement isn’t as destroyed as you’d expected - a few papers blown around, overturned chairs, but overall intact. Chas lowers you to the ground and sits with your head in his lap, running gentle fingers through your hair. Zed kneels beside you and you can tell she’s trying not to cry as she punches your shoulder _Damn it,_ she says, voice a little choked. _Don’t scare me like that_.

You manage a laugh but it’s more of a sob and your vision is going dark at the edges as you ask _the kids?_

You aren’t awake to hear the answer. Don’t find out until you wake up two days later, shivering and feverish, and make Zed tell you they all made it but one, the first to fall ill.

You were too late for her.

You collapse back into bed, shaky hands reaching for cigarettes that aren’t there, eyes darting looking for a tumbler or a bottle or something, anything to drag you into oblivion so you don’t have to think or remember or _know_.

But there’s nothing. Just you and Zed and the quiet.


End file.
